


a series of silence, the flow of time

by pyrality



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1947192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/pseuds/pyrality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aone kisses with a gentleness that makes Futakuchi fall into deferential silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a series of silence, the flow of time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing these two and I really hope it doesn't read too weirdly;;;;

If Futakuchi was to describe their relationship, he would say it’s a quiet romance.   
  
Not because of literal silence that often stretches for hours between them, comfortable, as they sit next to each other, the tips of their fingers just barely touching as they do nothing but breathe. But he thinks it’s a quiet romance anyway, one that burns softly like crackling wood beneath the embers of a slow-burning, muted fire. It resembles the warm atmosphere of silence, spiritual and reverent, that two people share as they sit in front of a campfire or a fireplace, knees grazing each other's, hands held out to absorb the faint heat of the flickering fire in front of them.   
  
There is a certain comfort and intimacy to their relationship that Futakuchi realizes he can’t find the right words for to explain, but when he turns his head to look at Aone’s head of fluffy white hair tucked against his shoulder as he slumbers on their bus ride back to school, he thinks silence is what suits them most anyway.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Futakuchi closes his locker quietly, keeps his fingers pressed against chilled metal as he takes a steadying breath, looking down to his right hand, shaky as he clenches it into a fist until he feels his nails digging into his palm. He closes his eyes. He can still see the volleyball falling behind his eyelids, bare inches from his fingers, recalls the shock of pain he had felt when he hit the ground and watched, helpless, as the ball bounced against the floor, a single dull thud in the silence of the gymnasium that marked the end of the third years’ high school volleyball career.  
  
(No one blames him-- this is something he knows, understands,  _comprehends_ \-- but when he thinks of Kamasaki, Moniwa, and Sasaya’s faces as they bowed to the Datekou cheering crowd, he feels vaguely like crying.)  
  
Futakuchi jolts, startling when he feels Aone’s warm, broad hand on his shoulder, his eyes snap open and his head jerks up to look at the other teen as his fist unfurls and falls limply at his side, crescent moon imprints embedded in his palm. Aone looks at him, brow furrowed like usual, his upper lip protruding just slightly in a disapproving expression as his fingers clench and knot into his jersey. He’s silent, like always, the look in his eyes soft, and Futakuchi brings his hand up to cover his face, huffing out a breathless, unamused laugh.  
  
(Aone Takanobu is silent, stable, always there, like the inevitable ebb and flow of time, moving forward because the past is not a place where you can live forever.)  
  
“Spring High,” Futakuchi says out loud after a few moments, voice a little unsteady, soft in the silence of the locker room, but it gets everyone’s attention anyway. Aone’s hand is still on his shoulder, warm, and he can feel his heartbeat quickening beneath his chest, something much like courage and hope growing and flourishing in his stomach. “You guys,” he looks up, the slant of his mouth setting into a determined line as he raises his head, raises his chin, proud, “You guys will definitely go to Spring High Nationals.”  
  
“We,” Aone says suddenly, voice rough and throaty, but tone firm as he meets Futakuchi’s gaze. His hand on his shoulder tightens. “ _All_ of us.”  
  
“Honestly,” Moniwa speaks up, laughing, the sound a little choked and raw as he reaches up and rubs at the corner of his eyes, cheeks and nose starting to flush from emotion. “Futakuchi, you were the one who corrected me today and said ‘we’ earlier and now you’re saying ‘you guys’ like you’re not part of the team.”  
  
“I’ll lead you there,” Futakuchi blurts out next, impulsive, turning his gaze to the first and second years. He closes his eyes and swallows, focuses on the solidity of Aone’s hand still tight on his shoulder, warmth bleeding through his jersey, and it’s comforting, reassuring. He opens his eyes, feeling his brow furrow into a determined expression as he speaks again, “I’m going to take us to Spring High Nationals.”  
  
“You cheeky little brat, the new captain position hasn’t been chosen yet,” Kamasaki shouts at him, hand on his hip, but he’s cocking his head a little and he looks a little fond as he exchanges glances with Moniwa across the room.  
  
The atmosphere in the locker room changes, getting a bit more light hearted as the team starts chattering excitedly about going back to practice, ideas of what they need to work on for Spring High. Futakuchi feels the air leave his lungs in a rush as he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. He turns to look at Aone, who holds his gaze for a few moments before he lets go of his shoulder and turns back to his locker, ruffling through it.  
  
“Hey,” Futakuchi says after turning the words over in his mouth a few times. His voice is hushed, just loud enough for Aone to hear. The white-haired boy looks over, expectant. He feels himself grin as he starts talking again, “Thanks.”  
  
Aone stares at him for a few seconds before he looks down, head tipping in a polite nod.  
  
(Futakuchi isn’t sure if he imagines the way the other boy’s lips twitch a hint upwards, hardly noticeable.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Aone never really properly tells him that he likes him and it’s more just a fact that Futakuchi is aware of, and he knows Aone is aware of his reciprocated feelings too. They just don’t really talk about it— they don’t need to? They probably do, but things are natural as it is too, steady, consistent, like the flow of time.  
  
(It’s an excuse, things are comfortable, but it’s also  _not enough_.)  
  
Futakuchi taps his fingers against his arm, a little restless as he recalls hearing first years talking earlier about finding Aone intimidating because of his stoic silence.  
  
But Aone expresses himself  _other_ ways, and Futakuchi wishes sometimes, that the rest of the Datekougyou team was more observant and patient and sensitive. The other second years have never bothered to try and understand him, instead they avoid him, avert their eyes, intimidated by Aone’s perpetually frowning face and unnerved by his silence. But Aone speaks like all the rest of them do, just in different ways, quieter methods, mute tones, silences of varying meanings. A body can speak, and he has eyes louder than the sound of gunshots in the dead of night, a presence demanding and powerful, like a king that steps up to inherit a rightful throne in the silence of his deferential court.  
  
A first year breaks him from his thoughts when he grabs a ball from the ground near where he and Aone are standing, eyes flickering up to the white-haired teen before he nervously looks away and dashes off.  
  
“I guess we’re not the kids anymore,” Futakuchi says suddenly to Aone as he frowns after the first year and watches as he joins the others running around in practice, hectic, fresh, and ungainly. He raises his arms up and tucks them behind him, cushioning his head. “Us problem children becoming clumsy parents. What a love story.”  
  
It’s a joke, sort of, not really— he’s been by Aone’s side for so long, come to seen it as natural for them to stick together—  _be together._  Truthfully, the playful words fly out of his mouth before he really has time to reconsider them and reword them so they aren’t quite as flirty.   
  
Futakuchi reaches up, pushes his bangs aside, fidgety suddenly as he turns to look at Aone, and he blinks when he sees the other with his mouth pressed in a thin, nervous line, eyes downcast, expression seemingly flustered. Aone stays silent as he keeps his eyes down and scuffs his shoe against the paint lines on the gym floor, smoothing out his uniform with his clumsy big hands just so he doesn’t have to stand still as Futakuchi stares at him.  
  
“Oh,” the brunet hears himself say finally, stop-start, soft.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Futakuchi frowns, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck as he watches the steady downpour of rain outside. He sighs, scuffing his shoe against the linoleum of the floor, twisting his mouth in a pout as he lowers his hand from his neck to look at the watch on his arm. There’s no practice today since something in the gym needed to be fixed and he figured that even after running errands for his homeroom teacher, he’d be able to get home early today and get some downtime to himself. Futakuchi squats down and sits on the steps, tucking his school bag against his thigh as he pulls his phone out and thumbs through his texts to Aone’s name. He ruffles his hand through his hair, pushing his bangs up as he contemplates texting Aone to come over later, after the rain.  
  
Futakuchi jolts when the top of an umbrella peeks over his vision. He turns around to see Aone as the owner of said umbrella, expression furrowed as usual, as he tilts his wrist and brings the umbrella up until it stands up straight. He offers his free hand towards Futakuchi, who blinks at it before he smiles and takes it, tucking his phone back into his bag and hefting the bag onto his shoulder as he stands up.  
  
“Geez, don’t you know opening an umbrella indoors is bad luck, Aone?” he chides playfully.  
  
The white-haired teen blinks before glancing up at his umbrella and tipping his head in apology, rubbing at the back of his neck with his other hand. Futakuchi feels his lips stretch into a smile as he moves to stand next to the taller teen, tilting his head towards the doors in a go-ahead gesture. Aone nods, slow, deliberate, before they start walking together out into the rain.  
  
The rain pitter-patters steadily against the nylon surface of the umbrella and along with the dull wet splashing of their shoes against wet concrete, it fills the silence between them when Futakuchi isn’t talking with ambient noise as they walk home. They finally enter the residential areas where it’s quieter still, no cars, no chattering people in the street, the occasional buzz and hum of streetlights. By then, the rain has softened from a heavy downpour to light mist, barely noticeable. Aone lowers the umbrella and shakes it out to his side, getting the water out before he lets it dangle from his fingers. He stops suddenly, and Futakuchi pauses, glancing back at him. Before he can ask what’s wrong, the white-haired teen holds out his hand, the one that had previously been gripping the umbrella between them, a flush of bare red beneath the skin of his cheeks as he looks down at the ground, fingers spread out, palm up, offering.  
  
Futakuchi feels himself flush as he stares at his hand before he huffs out an amused, but nervous sigh. He rubs his finger over his reddening nose, looking away in an attempt to disguise his flushing cheeks as he takes Aone’s hand with his free hand.  
  
“It was about time you tried to hold my hand anyway,” he says, trying to play off his nervousness. "We’ve been dating for—“  
  
Aone squeezes his hand, tight, too tight, almost painful as he stares at him. Futakuchi stares back, feeling his cheeks burn warmer beneath his skin— he’s somewhat relieved to see Aone is still pink under his pale cheeks, but he can still feel butterflies waking within his stomach, and the steady thrum of his quickening heartbeat in his ribcage. He startles, jerking back just slightly when Aone steps closer, lips set in a nervous pout. Futakuchi blinks a few times, swallows, and tips closer, tilting his chin up as he raises on his tiptoes. This time it’s Aone who jolts away, eyes widening as his hand on Futakuchi’s tightens. Their hands are awkwardly linked by their side, sweaty, gripping too tightly to the other, and they are separated by bare inches. Aone reaches up, secures his other hand on Futakuchi’s waist, fingers twisting into his school uniform, steadying him. The brunet feels his eyes scrunch and a fond smile curl his lips as he looks up at Aone, whose face is a bit redder than earlier, eyes averted to the side.  
  
It is like the lingering  
f  
a  
l  
l  
i  
n  
g  
raindrops around them when Futakuchi leans up and kisses him. It’s a clumsy bare press of lips, dry and chaste, soft and gentle, like breathing. Aone’s hand tightens on his waist and he tips into the kiss, awkward, too much pressure, but Futakuchi finds himself smiling into the kiss anyway, raising a hand up to curl against Aone’s jaw as he kisses back.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
(The assumption that sex is vital,  _necessary_  for a “healthy” romantic relationship is disgusting, an idea that makes Futakuchi glare daggers into his locker as he hears other boys chatter crudely in the background as they get ready for gym class. The boys are talking to a loudmouth who apparently slept with his girlfriend the night before and is now bragging shamelessly about it. Futakuchi pulls his gym shirt down over his head, still frowning at nothing as he glares into space without really seeing.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“Sorry, we’re having my cousins over today, but you can come over tomorrow after we get back to school,” Futakuchi says at the gate to his house, looking up to Aone.   
  
It’s dark, late after a longer-than-usual practice in preparation for a practice match the team is having tomorrow with Nekoma. The streetlamp behind Aone flickers to life, blinking once, twice, before it stabilizes, bathing them both in a dull gold glow. Futakuchi puts his hand on the gate, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. He pauses when he sees Aone with his hands stuffed into his jacket’s pockets, shoulders hunched, clearly nervous.  
  
“Really,” Futakuchi sighs, letting go of the gate to step close to the taller boy, smiling up at him, "you’re so shy, it’s cute, but if you want to kiss me, you can, you know. We  _are_ dating after all.”  
  
Aone hesitates before he reaches up and cups his cheek with his hand before he curls forward and presses his mouth to Futakuchi’s.  
  
(Futakuchi doesn’t talk for awhile after that.)

  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
(They do get less shy eventually.)  
  
They kiss, breath to breath, chest to chest, heartbeats resonating, fingers twisted and knotted in each other’s shirt, hair, in each other’s hands. Futakuchi shifts in Aone’s lap, legs tightening around the other’s waist as he curls his fingers at the back of his neck, playing with the fringe of his white hair. Aone smoothes his hands down to his hips, gentle, supporting as he leans into Futakuchi and kisses him back. They can kiss like this for minutes and minutes, intoxicating, buzzing warmth beneath their skin as they press their mouths to each other, reverent, yearning.  
  
Aone squirms one time when he notices Futakuchi’s hard, pressing against his stomach as he sits on his lap. The white-haired boy's cheeks flush deeper, and he looks uncomfortable and embarrassed.  
  
“Stupid,” Futakuchi chides gently, reaching down to squeeze Aone’s tense hand on his waist with his own. He shifts back in his lap to give Aone a bit more room. “Not everything has to lead to sex. We can go at our own pace and it’s fine if we never have sex too, you know.”  
  
“Want to,” Aone says, eyes flickering to meet his for a half-second before he looks away again, cheeks bright red beneath his pale skin. He chews on his lower lip, deliberating before he opens his mouth again and says, even quieter, “Just not yet.”  
  
“Okay,” Futakuchi answers, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “That’s fine too."  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
(It’s late into their second year, during winter break, that they go to the grocery store and shuffle around in the health aisle together, embarrassed as they rummage through the assortment of offered condoms and types of lube.)  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
“Their blocking is good as ever. To be expected of Datekougyou, after all, they  _are_ the Iron Wall,” is what Futakuchi hears from the crowd as they get ready for the next play, with him and Aone standing side by side, arms raised, knees bent as they watch their opponents on the other side of the net.  
  
Futakuchi bumps his arm to Aone’s, catching his attention, and he smiles at him when he looks over. He jerks his head over towards the crowd, gesturing to where Moniwa, Kamasaki, and Sasaya are sitting up in the balcony seats. Aone nods, tips his head politely in their direction before he turns to meet his gaze back to Futakuchi’s. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t say anything, but he bumps his arm back against the other boy’s as he turns back to the net to get ready for the next play.  
  
Futakuchi smiles.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  


 

> From: Aone  
>  Subject: (No Subject)  
>  shrine visit?

Futakuchi puffs out an amused, soft laugh as he moves from his desk to flop onto his bed. He lies down, stomach on the bed as he brings his phone up to the pillow as he types out his reply.

 

> To: Aone  
>  Subject: New Year’s Shrine visit  
>  Is your family going to Osaki Hachiman?

> From: Aone  
>  Subject: Re: New Years Shrine visit  
>  yes

> To: Aone  
>  Subject: Re: New Year's Shrine visit  
>  I'll meet you at the corner street of the hill up to the shrine then?   
>  (* -_･)/

> From: Aone  
>  Subject: Re: New Year's Shrine visit  
>  10:00

Before Futakuchi can reply, his phone chimes again and another mail pops in his inbox. He smiles to himself when he sees the message, fond. He and Aone don't usually text much-- the other is so clumsy with his big thumbs and taciturn demeanor even over written text.

 

> From: Aone  
>  Subject: Re: New Year's Shrine visit  
>  *10:00?

> To: Aone  
>  Subject: Re: New Year's Shrine visit  
>  Sounds good!! (＾v＾)b

(They end up parting ways with their parents to go watch the fireworks. Futakuchi chatters as they watch the sky and under the burst of fluorescent colors, in a quiet clearing amidst the trees and fireflies, Aone kisses him until he falls silent except for the thud of his heart.)    
  
  
  
~*~


End file.
